The Secrets We Keep: Merlin Holmes
by Kallie01
Summary: Merlin Holmes, the youngest Holmes brother, is known to some as the world's best secret keeper; but when he goes to his brother Sherlock's place to lie low for a while, Merlin's dark secrets may soon see the light of day. Rated T for safety. Warnings at the beginning of chapters.
1. Headaches

**A/N: This is my first Fanfiction, so please be nice. I'm really nervous and quite self-conscious about my writing, so if you have anything nice to say please do. I don't have a plan really laid out for this, so suggestions for future chapters or events would be much appreciated! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Sherlock. **

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><p>They entered the flat and were both surprised to find that someone was already there. Sherlock froze in place as he stared at the man sitting in his chair. He was young, very early twenties. He had short black hair, and bright blue eyes that were sparkling with amusement. His sharp cheekbones and angled face made him the spitting image of Sherlock. But who was he?<p>

John looked to Sherlock and saw him reach up and start rubbing his head, like he had a headache.

"Hello Sherlock," The man in the chair said cheerfully. "Long time no see."

Sherlock kept on rubbing his head. "What do you want Merlin?" He asked tiredly.

"Geez Sherlock, no need to get touchy, you should really stop rubbing your head like that, it will only make it worse."

Sherlock immediately took his hands off his head, glaring at them as if they had offended him in some way.

"I'm sorry, but who are you? And how did you get in here?" John asked, confused.

Sherlock sighed tiredly. "John, meet my little brother Merlin."

John's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "There's another one!?" He asked loudly, turning to Sherlock. "How many siblings do you actually have!? Is there any more family of yours I should be looking out for?"

Sherlock glared at him before turning sharply and walking into the kitchen.

"Don't mind him," Merlin said, directing his attention back to the living room, "He gets like this anytime I come around." Merlin stood up and walked over to John and offered his hand out to shake. "It's nice to meet you." He said with an amused smile on his face.

John shook his hand, still trying to process how this smiling man could even be related to Sherlock. "I don't know he seems pretty normal to me." John said to Merlin as he looked at Sherlock who was, again, rubbing his head and pointedly not looking at Merlin.

Merlin saw this as well and rolled his eyes. "No, trust me; he's more than annoyed right now. I give him a headache."

John looked confused at this. "Why would you give him a headache, you've barely spoken to him since we got here."

Sherlock looked up at them again, and took a deep breath before walking back over to where they were standing. "What are you doing here Merlin?" He asked again.

Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I just need a place to lie low for a while. Someone came pretty close to finding out two days ago; they might still suspect something so I need to hide for about a week or so."

Sherlock's eyes widened and John was surprised to find out that he almost looked worried. "How close were they to finding out? What did you do? Why don't you just go to Mycroft?"

Merlin was starting to look a little annoyed. "They were close, but not dangerously so, I don't need a change of identity or anything. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary; I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I came here instead of Mycroft's because I wanted to see you."

"But why do you have to stay _here_?"

"Because I trust you and it's safer here."

"What about staying with one of your little friends?"

"I can't stay at Arthur's because he is still on his honeymoon with Gwen. Gwain is vacationing in India. Everyone else isn't as trustworthy as you are."

Sherlock glared at him again and walked to his room, slamming the door without another word.

Merlin threw up his hands in frustration and walking back over to the chairs, falling into Sherlock's with a huff.

John, still not sure what to make of this conversation slowly followed Merlin and sat across from him.

"He'll let me stay, it will just take a bit for him to accept it." John was startled by when Merlin spoke suddenly.

"Why's he so agitated?" John asked curiously.

"Because he can't read me, and it frustrates him to no end." Merlin replied with an amused smirk on his face.

"What do you mean he can't 'read' you?"

"You know him, the great detective that can take one look at you and know all your secrets. Well he can't do that with me. Mycroft either."

John's eyes widened. "Seriously?" he asked not sure if such a thing were possible.

Merlin's smirk grew, "Yep, well, it's not quite that he _can't_ read me, it's just that he can't trust what he reads." His face grew thoughtful, "Think of it this way; if someone was trying to read your mind for something you didn't want them to know, which would be easier: trying to wipe your mind of all thought, or just thinking of something else?"

"Well, I suppose it would be easier to just think of something else." John replied, slightly confused.

"Correct," Merlin smiled widely, "My brothers can't read me, not because there's nothing to read, but because I'm giving them something to read that isn't true. Sherlock knows this, and it gives him a headache trying to reconcile what he's seeing with what he knows may or may not be true."

John wasn't quite sure what to think of this. The only other person Sherlock hadn't been able to read was the Woman… and she was naked at the time. Well, Merlin thankfully wasn't naked, and according to Sherlock it was impossible not to give _something _away. He was just about to ask Merlin about this when Sherlock came out of his room.

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><p><strong>AN: Let me know if you want more!**


	2. Conditions

**A/N: Yay! I got reviews and follows and favorites and everything! Thank you all so much for your support. I wouldn't have typed this us near as fast without it. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Sherlock**

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><p>"Alright," Sherlock came out of his room with long strides, coming to tower Merlin who was sitting in his chair. "You can stay on two conditions," Sherlock was now holding his finger in front of Merlin's face as if Merlin were a child that needed straightening out. Merlin was not impressed. "One, <em>you <em>get to tell Mycroft you were almost discovered and that you are going to stay here," Merlin's face remained stoic, waiting for the terms of his stay, "Two, you swear to me that you haven't relapsed."

At this, a flicker of emotion crossed Merlin's face, almost like a grimace, but it was gone before John could know for sure. _Relapsed into what?_ John asked himself. His first thought was drugs, but then, Merlin didn't look like a drug addict, _neither did Sherlock_, John reminded himself.

Merlin gave a weary sigh, but it seemed to be more out of annoyance than anything else. He thought for a few seconds, and then stood up to face Sherlock at eye level. "I will call Mycroft in the morning, if he doesn't already know where I am by then."

John added this to his growing list of things to ask Sherlock when Merlin wasn't around.

"And the second condition?" Sherlock asked coolly.

Merlin hesitated only for a moment, and then resolutely looked Sherlock dead in the eyes, "I swear that I haven't relapsed." Merlin said, absolutely serious for the first time John had seen him.

Sherlock stared long and hard into those blue eyes so similar to his own. He must have seen something there, because it wasn't long before he relaxed and gave a curt nod before abruptly turning and stalking downstairs, calling for Mrs. Hudson.

At his brother's agreement, some of the tension left Merlin's body, and he slowly sank back into Sherlock's chair with an unfathomable expression upon his face.

John for one, felt completely left out of the loop. He knew Sherlock better than most anyone and he could tell that whatever Merlin might have been liable to relapse into, it worried the detective greatly. There wasn't much that worried Sherlock, and when something did it would do you well to worry about it too.

Mrs. Hudson came bustling up the stairs, tearing John away from his thoughts. Sherlock had obviously told her of the new guest in the flat, and she was never one to miss an opportunity to mother those around her.

"Hello dearie," she greeted Merlin warmly, "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady; Sherlock tells me you are visiting from out of town and that you need a place to stay." She carefully picked her way around all of Sherlock's clutter, eventually reaching the linen closet. "Now I'm afraid we don't have any extra bedrooms, so you'll have to take the couch, is that all right?"

Merlin smiled kindly at her, "Yes that would be perfectly fine ma'am. I do hope I won't be in the way too much."

Both Mrs. Hudson and John smiled back at him. There was just something infectious about his smile, so open and friendly you just had to respond in turn. _There's no way he's related to Sherlock! _John couldn't help thinking.

"Oh, don't you worry your head about it dear, it's no trouble at all! Now, here are the spare sheets," She handed him a neatly folded bundle that she had taken from the linen closet, "How about I just go down and make us all some tea and biscuits?"

Merlin's smile turned thankful, "Yes that would be lovely; I'm absolutely famished! Thank you so much for your hospitality." He nodded his head at her in a small bow.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened at the show of formality (and John was a little dumbstruck as well), "My, what manners!" Mrs. Hudson gushed, "If only there were more boys like you around, the world would have half as many problems if I do say so myself. That's the trouble with the youth these days, no respect for others. I'm happy to see there is some hope for the future generations, at least…" Her voice faded away as she went downstairs to make tea, no doubt still talking despite there being no one to listen.

In the absence of Mrs. Hudson's chatter, there was a somewhat awkward silence between Merlin and John. So much information had been given, yet John felt as though he were missing the larger part of a bigger picture. He had questions burning through his mind, but it was obvious that no matter what he asked, Merlin would not answer.

After nearly a full minute of the stifling awkwardness filling the room, Merlin suddenly stood up and walked over to the couch, apparently to start making it up to sleep on. The sudden movement startled John, and his eyes followed the boy across the room.

The couch was cluttered with paraphernalia from Sherlock's most recent case. There were papers on papers in folders, with a microscope balanced haphazardly on the arm of the couch, and a few old beakers that seriously needed to be cleaned out.

Merlin seemed unfazed by the mess however. Without batting an eye he set the sheets down before starting to organize the chaos that was the couch. He set the microscope on the coffee table along with the beakers, placed in order from largest to smallest.

Then he started looking through the papers. John knew that Sherlock had been meaning to put the majority of those papers up on the wall like he usually did with the longer cases, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. John also knew how picky Sherlock was with how things were arranged, and that there would be hell to pay if Merlin messed up something important.

"Maybe you should wait until Sherlock gets back before moving that stuff." John suggested, "Where is he anyway? He didn't come back with Mrs. Hudson."

Merlin blinked once then smiled his wide smile, "Sherlock is probably prowling the streets and thinking through his next plan of attack." There was definitely a twinkly of mischeviousness in Merlin's eyes at the last part.

"Plan of attack?"

"Yep, like I said, he can't read me, but that won't stop him from trying." Merlin rolled his eyes, "He never succeeds, but at least it keeps him sane. As for all this stuff," he gestured to the papers, "he won't mind me moving it."

John was skeptical, he had just opened his mouth to say just that, but Merlin interrupted him.

"Trust me." was all he said.

Merlin's eyes were sure; John decided not to push it.

Merlin turned back to the papers once he saw that John wouldn't protest, and started flipping through them rapidly. He scanned some papers while only glancing at others, his fingers moved rapidly as he went through the folders, every now and then his lips would move as read whatever paper was in his hand at the moment. All the while he was organizing the papers into neat stacks, this with that and that with these. At some point he began pinning the paper to the wall, using different colored pins seemingly at random, but when looked at from a distance there were patterns that could be seen.

John watched it all, his awe only growing as the seconds ticked by, filled with the rustling of paper. _Well I guess they're related after all. _Was all John could think as Merlin continued to sort through the ever shrinking pile. Similar to how it was with Sherlock, Merlin's intelligence seemed to radiate from his being as he worked. It wasn't always visible (again much like Sherlock), but it was most certainly there.

From what John knew of Merlin, he would never have guessed that he have the same level of cleverness as his brothers. Merlin certainly didn't have their arrogance, their rudeness, or their inability to carry on a conversation in which both sides knew what was going on. John had even begun to form a half of an idea that Merlin was adopted. Looking at him know, there was no doubt who Merlin was related too. How 'bout that.

Merlin finished pinning the last of the papers on the wall, and then he stepped back and gave a small smile at the final product. In short, it looked like Sherlock had done it. It had taken him less than ten minutes.

Now having all of the clutter moved off the couch, Merlin began spreading out the sheets to make it a little more bed-like.

The sound of the front door opening echoed up the stairs, followed soon after with footsteps on the slightly creaky stairs. Sherlock entered his coat collar up and his scarf tied around his neck. Merlin had been at least partially, right. Sherlock had indeed gone walking.

John inwardly cringed as he braced himself for the coming tirade that happened whenever Sherlock's things were moved without his consent. John knew from experience how brutal those could be. Even if he secretly knew Sherlock felt at least a little bad after he calmed down.

To John's immense surprise, Sherlock didn't even blink at the organization of his papers. He just glanced at Merlin, and started to reach his hand up to rub his head before abruptly jerking it back down again.

Merlin, seeing this, sent a cheeky wink to Sherlock before he continued to arrange his bedding. Sherlock replied with a glare, and then glanced at the newly papered wall. He gave a small nod and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. John decided he would go and see what was taking Mrs. Hudson, and maybe ask her what she knew of the mysterious Merlin Holmes.

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><p><strong>AN: I don't have a set schedule for updating, but I will try to keep them coming as I already have most of the story planned out. I do have a couple questions though. **

**1. Do you want Merlin to have magic? Or just another big secret? If you don't want him to have magic, I could really use some suggestions for other secrets he might have.**

**2. I got more reviews in my email than shows on , does anybody know why this is? I'm new to the website so I'm a little confused.**

**3. Moriarty? If so he won't be a big part of the plot, but I may be able to squeeze him in if you really want me to.**

**Thank you all again!**


	3. Questions

**A/N: I would like to thank all of you wonderful people who reviewed. You inspire me to write! I post the chapters as I finish them, so I never have anything pre-written. As a result, any suggestions or comments left in reviews will be considered, and possibly used. I am writing this as I go whenever inspiration strikes me, so the more reviews the more inspiration I have! **

**I forgot to mention before, this takes place after the Hounds of Baskerville, but before the Reichenbach Fall. So there may be spoilers for the Fall episode. (Though not in this chapter, there will be a spoiler warning at the front of the spoiler chapters). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Sherlock.**

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><p>"Well that was enlightening." John thought sarcastically as he ascended the stairs to the flat. Mrs. Hudson had known nothing. She didn't even know that Sherlock had another brother. <em>At least I wasn't the only one left out of the secret. <em>

John entered the flat to find Sherlock sitting in his chair and plucking the strings on his violin like he was wont to do when he was thinking.

"Where's Merlin?" John asked once he realized the man in question wasn't to be seen.

"He went back to his flat to grab a few things."

John nodded, then walked over to his chair and sat down across from Sherlock. Then he waited. John knew that if he were to ask Sherlock any of the questions burning in his mind then he would learn nothing. However, if Sherlock were to speak first, then there was a better chance of getting some answers.

Nearly five minutes had passed, and John never stopped staring steadily at Sherlock, who had yet to look up from his violin strings. Finally, Sherlock gave a long-suffering sigh and set aside the violin to look at John. "I suppose you have questions."

"Yeah, just a few." John said sarcastically.

"Well I suppose we may as well get this tedious conversation over with then." Sherlock pressed his hands together and looked expectantly at John.

John quickly ran through his list of questions. "Why haven't I heard of Merlin before? Neither you nor Mycroft have ever mentioned him."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Merlin is different. He does things no one else can, and because of this he has been kept as under the radar as possible."

"What kind of things?" John asked, curious.

A slightly panicked look flashed across Sherlock's face for a split second before he sent a glare at John and completely ignored the question.

"On top of this, Merlin is the baby of the family. You've seen how protective Mycroft is of me?"

"Yes," John replied, eyes narrowing at the change of topic, but he decided to let it go. _For now, _he thought to himself.

"Well Mycroft is twice as protective of Merlin. Constant surveillance, intimidation and bribes to any acquaintance Merlin happens to make, wire taps, etcetera." Sherlock looked amused, "Not that it has done much good."

John was confused, "What do you mean?"

A smirk crossed Sherlock's face, "Merlin easily has greater intelligence than Mycroft, and maybe equal intelligence to me. He stays under Mycroft's surveillance because he doesn't really mind it, but if and when he wants to do something in secret, then he finds a way."

John remembered something Merlin had mentioned earlier, "Merlin said that he can hide things from you and Mycroft, is that really true?"

Sherlock's amused expression disappeared immediately, and his face took on a much more serious edge. "Unfortunately, yes." He replied.

John's eyes widened, he opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock spoke first.

"Mycroft and I didn't always know it though. It wasn't until the summer Merlin was sixteen that we found out he could keep anything from us."

"What happened?" John asked.

Sherlock appraised him seriously for a moment before he leaned back in his chair. "This is a long story, and we only have so much time before Merlin gets back, so no questions until I'm finished."

John nodded.

"Even when Merlin was a small child he was 'likeable', whatever that means. He had the cleverness of Mycroft and I, but seemed to be without the personality that went with it. When he was four we found out that he was different, so we kept him in and away from other kids. I could always tell more about him than Mycroft because I was around more often, and I knew that while Merlin didn't particularly like being isolated, he understood and was happy anyway." As he went through the memories, Sherlock's face took on a far off look.

"When Merlin was eight he started going to public school, only to excel faster than Mycroft and I combined. While we found school tedious and not worth our time (resulting in poor grades through neglect), Merlin put effort into everything and he soaked up knowledge like a sponge. He started college when he was twelve, and graduated when he was sixteen." At this point Sherlock became far less wistful and far more pained. He looked at John.

"You've met him; he looks like a happy, lighthearted person, yes?"

John nodded, confused.

"Well he was the same throughout the whole first sixteen years of his life. Neither Mycroft, nor I, nor our parents ever suspected anything else." Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing.

"Two and a half months after Merlin graduated college, he attempted suicide."

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><p><strong>AN: I know! Cliffhanger, I'm so mean. Sorry it's such a short chapter, but it was just too good not to end it there. The next chapter will probably be up before the end of the week. Please review with your comments on the cliffhanger! **


	4. Flashbacks

**A/N: First of all, I want to apologize for the long wait. I had no intention of letting it go this long, and I'm sorry I left you hanging. Thank you all for your absolutely wonderful reviews. Each and every one inspired me to keep writing. **

**This chapter takes place in the past, and it will continue to do so for probably one more chapter. **

**I keep forgetting to mention, the main story takes place _After_ the Hound of Baskerville, but _Before_ the Reichenbach Fall. Merlin is 22, and Sherlock is 32. I am going to try my best to keep major events canon to Sherlock. **

**Warnings: Descriptions of blood and mentions of suicide.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Sherlock.**

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><p><em>Two and a half months after Merlin graduated college.<em>

Sherlock walked up to the front door of Merlin's flat and knocked briskly. He wondered for the thousandth time why he was even here. He tried to convince himself that the funny feeling that compelled him to pay his younger brother a visit was nothing more than indigestion from the pure idiocy he had been subject to recently. But he still couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that had settled into his bones.

It all started a little under an hour ago when he had received a call from Merlin. He had been busy checking the biometric compounds in a toenail clipping (for a case of course), so he let it go to voicemail. A highly annoying nagging at the base of his head had led him to listen to it a few minutes later.

He wouldn't be able to explain why the message from his brother had filled him with such dread. By all accounts Merlin had seemed perfectly fine. The call may have been a bit sudden, but then Merlin always had been a little more spontaneous than his brothers. Plus, Merlin was one of those 'keep-in-touch' kinds of people. So all in all, the entire message was completely innocuous… or so it would seem.

Five minutes after he had listened to the voicemail, Sherlock gave up attempting to concentrate on his work in favor of pacing. Why wouldn't this stupid irrational feeling leave him alone!? By now his annoyance was brimming on the edge of pure frustration. Eventually, he just gave up and resigned himself to the horribly tiresome task of a 'social' visit.

So here he was, waiting for Merlin to come to the door so that Sherlock could finally get some peace and get on with more important things. The only problem was that Merlin wasn't coming to the door.

Sherlock knocked again, the anxiety creeping through his veins strengthening in intensity. When there was again no response, he pounded on the door urgently once more, and then started pacing in small circles.

He knew that Merlin was home. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he trusted his instincts, and right now his instincts were telling him that his brother was home and that something was _wrong._

Sherlock dug the key to Merlin's flat out of his pocket, having taken it with him on a whim. He had stolen the key from his brother years ago and made a copy (not that Merlin didn't know). Merlin knew he had it, and Sherlock knew that Merlin knew he had it. Neither mentioned this fact for the sake of peace.

His fingers trembled as he slotted the key into the lock and turned; it unlocked with a click. He quickly let himself into the flat and closed the door behind him. It was eerily silent, and almost completely dark, the shades drawn and the lights off. But it wasn't those things that turned the pit of dread in his stomach into fear, it was the smell. A smell Sherlock knew all too well; the smell of blood.

Immediately, Sherlock quickly followed the smell. Through the living room, past the kitchen (where he subconsciously stored the fact of a missing knife), into Merlin's bedroom, he followed the smell all the way to the master bath; where he found Merlin, and blood.

Now the fear and progressed even further into an icy cold feeling that couldn't be described. Shock might be a close word, but it probably didn't fully encompass the horror that had flooded his being. Sherlock was not unfamiliar with blood; he dealt with it on a day to day basis. But he had never before dealt with it in this way, on such a personal level, and he was sure the image before him would be forever seared onto his memory.

Merlin was slumped in his bathtub, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his legs crossed. There were tear tracks running down his face. He was unconscious… and sitting in a pool of blood. It was flowing steadily from the angry slits in his wrists, and a knife had fallen just outside the fingertips of Merlin's left hand. The blood, _Merlin's blood, _was pooled around his limp form, soaking into his clothes and painting his arms and hands a sickening shade of red.

Sherlock couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't possible. He would have _seen_ this! The thoughts swirled through his head, paralyzing him with a deep feeling of shock and horror.

The knife sat by his brother's hands, taunting him, showing him what he hadn't noticed. _Why!?_ His mind screamed, _why would Merlin do this?_ He frantically searched for an explanation, but soon realized that only Merlin would know. _Is he even alive?_

It was this thought more than anything that spurred him into action. He lunged forward and knelt by the bathtub, pressing two shaking fingers to Merlin's neck. A weak, thready beat echoed against his skin.

His vision started to fade at the edges, and Sherlock distantly realized that he was hyperventilating. He forced his emotions back; this was not a time to panic.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and started dialing the number for an ambulance. No, he couldn't do that. He stopped dialing. He knew for a fact that Merlin had blood like no one else's. His brother would become an experiment. There was only one person Sherlock could call.

"Sherlock, what do you want?" Mycroft picked up on the third ring.

Sherlock was a little disgusted at the wave of relief that washed over him at the sound of his brother's voice. "It's Merlin," he said.

Mycroft's tone changed in an instant, "What happened?" He asked seriously.

"He's…" Sherlock couldn't say it, the words refused to move past the _thing_ in his throat. "He's hurt."

"What happened?" Mycroft repeated.

Sherlock glanced at the knife and breathed out shakily, "He's unconscious and bleeding heavily. He's alive but needs medical attention _now._ Someone you can trust to keep a secret." At the thought of secrets a bud of anger started to blossom in Sherlock's chest. But he forced it back down, he could be angry later.

There was a pause on Mycroft's end, Sherlock waited impatiently.

"They're on their way."

Sherlock gave a sigh of relief, but he knew it wasn't over yet. A sudden thought crossed his mind. "Mycroft, don't tell mum and dad until you see him first."

"Sherlock, _what happened?_" Mycroft's voice was demanding, and the very real concern had made itself known.

A choking sound made its way out of Sherlock's throat. "Just get here soon," was all he could say. Then he hung up.

_To Be Continued..._

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><p><strong><em>AN: Please please review! I need inspiration for the next chapter, and the longer your review the faster I write!  
><em>**


	5. Revelations

**A/N: Ok, so first of all I want to apologize for the incredibly long wait for this chapter. I could give you my excuses, but they don't change the fact that I kept you waiting. Sorry for that. I am making it up to you with this incredibly awesome SUPER-CHAPTER. This is the longest thing I have ever written in one sitting. I am very happy with it and it is my favorite chapter so far. I really hope you all like it as well! Enjoy!**

**Special shout out to all those who reviewed!**

**NOTE! - I have questions for you the reader at the end of this chapter, please read them and answer if possible. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer - I do not own Merlin or Sherlock.**

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><p>An ambulance arrived within ten minutes. Sherlock would later think that these were the longest ten minutes of his life. A team of what Sherlock knew were Mycroft's personal physicians loaded Merlin onto a stretcher and then into the back of the ambulance.<p>

Sherlock was told he had to follow them in a separate car, which he did after a short but heated argument with the doctor in charge. Anthea was waiting in the back of one of Mycroft's noiseless black cars. For once, Mycroft's PA wasn't looking at her phone, but seemed just as concerned as Sherlock. Anthea always did have a soft spot for Merlin.

The drive to the hospital was tense and silent, but Sherlock couldn't have cared less. All he could think about was _Why?_ Why did Merlin do this? Why didn't Sherlock notice? Why didn't _anybody_ notice? How could Merlin hide something like this? Why did Merlin have to hide something like this? _Why?_

None of these questions had obvious answers. For once in his life Sherlock was completely clueless.

Mycroft was waiting when they got to the hospital. Merlin had already been rushed inside by the time Sherlock got out of the car and went to stand by his older brother.

Mycroft was frozen. He had seen Merlin as he was being taken inside, and it didn't take long for him to realize what had happened to his youngest brother. Sherlock had never seen Mycroft look so confused, so lost. It was very similar to how Sherlock felt.

They went inside and sat in a private waiting room. Neither of them had spoken since Mycroft had asked that they not be disturbed until there was news of Merlin. Sherlock was pacing in circles, wearing a rut in the plush carpet. Mycroft was sitting tensely in the chair best positioned to watch for approaching doctors, he had his hands pressed together and a deep wrinkle sat on his brow.

The silence was broken after an hour when Sherlock couldn't take it anymore.

"Why?"

Mycroft looked up to see his brother staring at him with confusion in his eyes.

"Why didn't we see this?" Sherlock asked pleadingly. "I don't understand."

Mycroft sighed, "We didn't see because he didn't want us to see."

Sherlock thought for a moment, "Why didn't he want us to see?" he amended.

"Only Merlin can answer us that, Sherlock."

They held each others' piercing gazes for a few moments, before Mycroft's eyes shifted to something behind his brother. Sherlock turned around to see what his older brother was looking at and saw a doctor walking toward them.

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><p>Merlin was going to be okay, physically at least. The doctor had said that he was going to be weak for a while, and the scars would always remain, but Merlin was going to live. They didn't know when Merlin was going to wake up. A blood transfusion was impossible, which the doctors didn't like but Mycroft had his methods of convincing them not to make a fuss. A normal person in this situation would take a few days to recover enough to regain consciousness, but Merlin wasn't a normal person. If Sherlock had to guess, Merlin would take less than twenty-four hours to wake up. He could be wrong of course, but that was highly unlikely.<p>

So here they were; he and Mycroft had both taken seats next to each other at the side of Merlin's bed. The sounds of only the hospital equipment in the heavy silence were oppressive, but neither seemed to care in light of the still form in front of them.

Merlin looked like hell. He had deep, bruise colored rings under his eyes, and his normally pale skin was now almost deathlike. Most horrible of all were the scars marching up and down Merlin's arms. Apparently this hadn't been the first time Merlin had taken up a knife. Some of the lines were covered by the bandages on his wrists, but most were left bare by the short sleeved hospital gown.

The scars were a shock to both Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock hadn't seen them when he first found Merlin, for they had been covered with blood at the time and he wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the moment either. So when he walked into the hospital room and saw the scars his stomach twisted and he had almost fled.

It wasn't the scars themselves that had turned Sherlock's blood to ice; it was how old some of them were. Sherlock took his job as a detective very seriously, and if there was one thing he had made himself proficient in, it was recognizing the age of injuries. Some of these scars were years old. After a few painful seconds Sherlock could easily see that the oldest looked to be about four years old. Twelve, Merlin would have been twelve at the time.

Sherlock turned to his older brother; Mycroft was extremely pale and had fallen into the chair without his usual grace. They shared a grim, shocked expression. Did they know their brother at all? The Merlin they knew was the happiest person in the world. He had a kind heart and could always see the bright side. There had always been a light in Merlin's eyes, an innocence that was precious in such a messed up world. Merlin couldn't hurt a fly, let alone himself. Was that person a lie? How could they have missed _this_?

It was these questions and more that filled the silence. Nothing was asked aloud, for there was nobody that could answer. So they waited.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until the next afternoon that Merlin started to shift in his sleep. Sherlock nudged his dozing older brother in the ribs, jerking him awake. Sherlock had assumed that Merlin would recover faster than normal, and here he had his proof. Merlin was waking up. It was a good thing Mycroft paid the doctors so well to not ask questions. Someone suffering from major blood loss waking up in less than 24 hours would normally cause some attention.<p>

Merlin kept shifting, slowly rising out of unconsciousness. Sherlock leaned forward slightly, and Mycroft sat up straighter, they knew it wouldn't be long now.

They watched apprehensively as Merlin's eyes slowly blinked open to stare fuzzily at the ceiling. It took a few moments for the haze of sleep to leave his eyes, for him to realize where he was. When he did his eyes widened slightly before shutting tight and then opening again. He didn't seem to notice his brothers watching him silently.

"No." Merlin's voice was rough with pain and despair. Even Mycroft winced at the pure sadness in it. Neither of the older brothers moved as they watched the youngest.

Merlin's eyes filled with tears that soon started to fall from the corners of his eyes and seep into the fabric of the pillow. "No no no no no." He lifted a fist weakly and dropped it back onto the hospital bed in a sign of frustration. He closed his eyes once more and gave a weary sigh.

Sherlock didn't know what to make of this. Seeing such despair in his usually lighthearted little brother made his heart ache strangely. "Merlin?" he asked softly, trying his best not to startle him.

Merlin's eyes snapped open and he slowly turned his head to fix Sherlock with the most poignant gaze Sherlock had ever seen.

"You," Merlin's voice was deadly in its quietness; "It was you wasn't it?"

Sherlock was confused; he didn't know what Merlin was accusing him of. "What?"

"It was you that found me." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. He still didn't understand where Merlin was going with this. He glanced at Mycroft, who was watching Merlin silently.

Merlin looked angry now. Sherlock had never seen his little brother angry. Frustrated, yes; annoyed, most definitely; but never angry.

Merlin's eyes blazed as he glared at Sherlock, "Why?! Why did you save me?! I could have been with her! I wouldn't have to be alone anymore! Why couldn't you just let me die?!"

Sherlock had to take a step back even as Mycroft stiffened in his seat. It wasn't just the words which hit Sherlock like a punch to the gut; it was the true fury and desperation behind it. Merlin was angry, really and truly angry. Lying in a hospital bed, pale and weak from blood loss, his kind little brother was easily the most intimidating thing Sherlock had ever seen.

Mycroft had come close to inspiring this level of fear a couple times in Sherlock's life, but it had never made him want to back down like he did now. This was fear that his little brother shouldn't be capable of inspiring. This was something Sherlock hoped to never see again.

"Merlin!" Mycroft's voice was sharp and commanding, causing Merlin's piercing glare to shift to his oldest brother.

Sherlock saw with no small worry that Merlin's hands were starting to glow at the fingertips, and a faint breeze had started to swirl around the room. He quickly checked behind him to make sure there were no doctors or staff near.

Merlin seemed to see this and realized what he was doing. He collapsed back onto the bed, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. The glow faded, the wind died and silence made its home. All three brothers could feel the sorrow permeating the air.

* * *

><p>"I fell in love."<p>

Merlin's voice cut through the silence, causing his brothers to startle.

"What?" It was Mycroft that asked, not sure he had heard right.

"Well it's painfully obvious that you both want to know why I tried to off myself, so I'm telling you." The dead monotone in which the words were said was almost more painful to hear than the fury that had been there earlier.

"When?" Sherlock asked after a few moments of silence.

Merlin sighed, "About a year ago, I met a girl. Freya," his voice cracked when he said her name. He turned his head to look his brothers in the eye. "She was like me."

Both Sherlock and Mycroft's eyes widened. They knew for a fact that people with the same _abilities_ as Merlin were extremely rare. Most of the time those people weren't even aware of what they had.

Once Merlin saw that they understood his meaning, he turned back to stare glassily at the ceiling. "She was so lost, so scared. I found her hiding in an alley in the rain. Even when she realized that I saw her she didn't ask for help." Merlin's voice was wistful, distant. "She was so brave…"

Merlin trailed off, he seemed to be lost in memory. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder at the longing in his little brother's voice. He had never seen Merlin as someone to fall in love. Now that he thought about it he realized that he didn't know why he assumed such. Merlin had always had a capacity for love that surpassed both of his brothers combined. It sometimes seemed as if Merlin lived off of love, whether it be his for others or others for him. After a few moments Mycroft cleared his throat, startling Merlin back to reality.

Merlin glanced at his brothers out of the corner of his eye and sighed before continuing his story.

"I helped her. I gave her my jacket and brought her some food. Even then she wouldn't let me close to her. She had been hunted for a while, and was so fearful to trust. It made me so angry, so sad that anyone could want to harm such a kind soul as Freya." A flash of that anger passed through Merlin's eyes, and Sherlock remembered the fury his little brother had displayed earlier; he suppressed a shiver at the memory.

"Who was hunting her?" Mycroft interjected. Merlin slowly turned his head to appraise his brothers, searching their faces for something unknown.

After a few seconds Merlin sighed and momentarily closed his eyes, as if steeling himself.

"I told you Freya was like me. Well, she wasn't exactly like me. She couldn't control her abilities. In fact they only showed when she was angry or very scared. About six months before I met her, Freya was in New York City visiting her aunt. One night she was attacked. She just reacted, and killed her attacker in self-defense." Here Merlin stopped and fixed his brothers with a hard look. "It wasn't her fault; she couldn't control it and was only defending herself." He spoke firmly, his voice not allowing any disagreement.

When neither of his brothers spoke, Merlin continued. "Unfortunately, the man who attacked her was the son of a powerful and very corrupt man. Freya tried to apologize, to explain, but he wouldn't listen. He sent out people to find and capture Freya, in order for him to exact his revenge. So she ran. She was still running when I found her in that alley."

Once again Mycroft broke through Merlin's monologue, an indignant expression on his face. "Why didn't you just tell me? I could have taken care of the situation easily enough."

Merlin shot a glare at his oldest brother, "And betray her trust?"

"Surely it would have been preferable to her being 'hunted' as you so put it." Mycroft stated dryly.

Merlin just rolled his eyes, "Do not patronize me, brother, I am not an idiot. I asked Freya if she wanted your help, but at the time she was so used to betrayal that she was wary of strangers. By the time she trusted me enough to trust you the man hunting her had almost completely lost her trail, so there was no need."

Mycroft said nothing, but continued to stare at his youngest brother. Merlin just shrugged and continued to talk.

"I helped her with her abilities as well. She was so scared of them; she thought that she was a monster." Here Merlin took a deep breath, "I understood how she felt, but I could never say that she was anything other than the kindest, most beautiful person I had ever met. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her."

It was quiet for a few moments. Merlin had turned once again to stare at the ceiling. Sherlock saw tears gather in his eyes though they did not fall. Merlin took a shaky breath before whispering so softly Sherlock almost didn't hear it.

"We were going to elope."

Sherlock's eyes widened, and Mycroft froze in his chair. Merlin glanced at them and then sighed and closed his eyes.

"She wanted me to finish college first. I would have left for her, but she didn't think she was worth it and insisted." A soft smile touched the corners of his mouth, "She was always worth it to me. I would have done anything to make her happy. We were going to go somewhere where no one could find us. Where we could be free and be ourselves together." Merlin's eyes opened and his smile faded. "But fate had other plans."

"What happened?" Sherlock asked after the quiet had stretched for a few minutes.

Merlin's voice was flat even as tears started to fall from the corners of his eyes to seep into the fabric of the pillows. "Four days after I graduated, two days before we were going to get married, we were going to meet at a restaurant. I was waiting for her outside and saw her coming from across the street. I waved at her and she smiled at me." Merlin took a deep breath, "She stepped off the curb into the path of a car. The car tried to swerve to avoid her, but it was too late. I ran to her, held her as she died in my arms." Merlin's voice was tight with pain and grief.

Sherlock's heart broke at the despair in his brother's voice.

"I tried to heal her. I tried so hard." Merlin's voice choked on the words, like he wanted to stop talking but wasn't able to. The floodgates had opened and there was no stopping now. "I couldn't do anything. I was helpless. I failed. She died in my arms two minutes after she was hit by the car. I left before the ambulance got there."

"Why?" Sherlock asked without thinking; Mycroft shot him a glare which he ignored.

Merlin gave a tremulous smile, "I had promised to keep her hidden, safe and secret. I was going to keep that promise." Merlin's smile fell and Sherlock inwardly cringed at the self-loathing in his little brother's eyes. "But I am weak. Her loss is eating me away inside. It just hurts so much. I see her in everything; I feel her loss in every second of every day. She died and I failed to save her."

"You can't possibly blame yourself." Sherlock said softly, even though he could clearly see that Merlin did.

Merlin gave a bark of laughter that had no humor in it. "Who else is there to blame? It wasn't Freya's fault; it wasn't even the driver's fault. The driver had tried to avoid her and ended up crashing into a light pole and going to the hospital. No. There is no one to blame but myself. That's why I started to do this," Merlin motioned to the many scars on his arms, "as punishment."

Sherlock suddenly felt cold at the mention of the scars. He fixed his little brother with a piercing stare. "I know scars, Merlin. I know what old scars look like and some of those are over four years old. Those aren't something you made recently."

Merlin grimaced. "No, you're right. The first time was maybe a week after I started college. Apparently college kids don't appreciate being corrected by a twelve year old. Neither do the teachers. I just wanted to fit in; I wanted them to like me. Some words were said that got under my skin. I couldn't make them go away and I started having nightmares. The knife made the words seem less sharp." Merlin paused to yawn, "Freya made the words go away completely. I stopped cutting after I met her. She knew about it, of course, I kept no secrets from her. But after she was gone, the words came back and so did the need for the knife."

Merlin's voice was weary. He was obviously exhausted. Now thinking about it, Sherlock was surprised Merlin had managed to stay awake as long as he had considering the amount of blood he lost.

Mycroft had clearly come to the same conclusion, "Go to sleep Merlin, we can talk more once you've rested."

Merlin gave a small nod and let his eyes drift shut for a moment before opening them blearily again and asking in a tired voice, "Mye?"

Mycroft gave a soft smile at Merlin's rarely used nickname for him. "What Merlin?"

"Please don't tell mum and dad."

Mycroft frowned, "They are your parents; they deserve to know."

Merlin shook his head slowly, "No, it will only hurt them. I don't want to hurt them. Please Mye."

Sherlock watched as his older brother considered his younger brother's plea.

After a few moments of contemplation Mycroft sighed, "I won't tell them on the condition that you see a therapist until she deems you not a danger to yourself."

Merlin stared at Mycroft for a second, and then nodded his head tiredly, agreeing with the condition.

Sherlock breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He considered most therapists to be annoying quacks, but Merlin needed to talk to _somebody_. Just this once, Sherlock trusted that Mycroft would pick the best _somebody_.

Merlin turned to Sherlock next. "I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier Sherl. I was just angry, I didn't mean what I said." He gave Sherlock a sleepy smile, "Thank you for saving my life."

Sherlock couldn't help the small smile that came unbidden to his lips, "You're welcome Merlin." He said softly as his little brother's eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep at last.

* * *

><p>A week later and Merlin was finally ready to leave the hospital. His wounds had healed exceptionally well, much to the consternation of the doctors. Merlin also seemed to be recovering mentally, but Sherlock couldn't help but have his doubts.<p>

When Sherlock had first found out that Merlin was capable of hiding things from him and Mycroft, he didn't consider what it meant in the long term. However, it didn't take long for Sherlock to realize that his belief in his deductive abilities had been shaken. As was his trust in Merlin's behavior.

When Merlin woke up the next morning he had seemed clearer headed than the night before. He had acted completely normal, if a little withdrawn. The depressed, angry person that Merlin had been when he first woke up was almost completely hidden. He made jokes with the nurses, and was polite with the doctors. He was witty as usual and kept up a constant chatter about nothing. Merlin's first therapy session went so well that the therapist asked why she was needed. Mycroft fired her that same day.

Three therapists later, Mycroft stopped trying. Both of the older Holmes brothers tried to talk to Merlin about Freya, or depression, or really anything at all. They hadn't gotten far. Apparently Merlin's night of honesty had come at the urging of a morphine drip. None of them were willing to try to replicate the results due to the Holmes' penchant for addiction.

Their problem was solved, however, when on the fourth day Merlin accidentally bumped into Arthur Penn, driver of the car that killed Freya.

Arthur had indeed been injured when the car crashed, and as the son of an extremely wealthy politician (whose archaic ways Sherlock had heard Mycroft complaining about more than once), he was taken to the same private hospital as Merlin. Arthur had been coming in for the doctors to replace his stitches when he literally ran into Merlin, knocking them both to the ground. Merlin called Arthur a prat, Arthur called Merlin and idiot. They somehow came to the topic of why they were at the hospital, and discovered how their stories were linked.

At first, Sherlock was worried that Merlin would hold animosity for Arthur's part in Freya's death, but his fears were unfounded. Apparently the mutual guilt in her death gave both Merlin and Arthur some closure. Realizing that neither blamed the other went a big step in the right direction for both of them. It wasn't long before they were fast friends. It helped that Arthur wasn't cowed by Merlin's intelligence, in the same way that Merlin wasn't cowed by Arthur's arrogance.

Still Sherlock was unsettled. He watched from across the street as Merlin and Arthur left the hospital together, arguing good naturedly. Sherlock tried to deduce Merlin, and he came up with the same thing he always did. Merlin was a happy carefree kid with a sharp wit and a good brain. Yet the other half of his mind argued that he saw the same thing before the _incident_, and it wasn't true then. He didn't know what to think. He tried to reconcile the two views of his younger brother, but found it almost impossible.

Sherlock absentmindedly reached a hand up to rub his head. He felt a headache coming on.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope you liked it! The next chapter will be back in present day with John.  
><strong>

**I have reached the point in this story where I know where I'm going, but I'm not sure how I'm going to get there. The next major plot point is going to be about three or four chapters in the future, but I need something to fill those three or four chapters. I have decided to expand on the brothers' relationship, as well as that of their mum and dad. Other than that I really want to do a case where Merlin helps out Sherlock. The only problem is that I am rubbish at making up crimes and doing deductions. I NEED HELP! **

**1. Anyone who has an idea for a crime/case for Sherlock and Merlin please let me know either in a review (preferably) or a PM. If you want to include any deductions that might be made I will be very grateful. I am looking for something I can cover in two to three chapters that won't affect the main plot too much. Thank you in advance for any help given!**

**2. This is not necessary for the story, but I don't have anyone else to ask but you guys. I am looking for a fanfiction that I was stupid enough not to favorite. I remember it was a modern AU in which Morgana works with Uther and other characters at a police investigation place. They are trying to get to Arthur, who is a terrorist, through his little brother Merlin. Merlin has magic and has to be kept hidden because if he is found then he will be taken to this secret place where he will be an experiment. In the story Merlin is captured and basically forced to sign his life away as an expiriment in exchange for Arthur's freedom. There is one scene in it that I really remember where Arthur is watching TV, then Merlin opens his bedroom door and tells Arthur he needs to go to the hospital. Arthur asks why and Merlin shows him his bloody arm and says that he accidentally cut too deep. Please, if you recognize or know the name of this please tell me, I have been looking for ages with no luck. It was actually this story that inspired my fanfiction. Thank you for any help!**


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